


The River

by Polliwog



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Drowning, Friendship, Gen, Horses, I have no idea what I'm doing, My First AO3 Post, Templars, possible character deaths, water phobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polliwog/pseuds/Polliwog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun is shining brightly when young Master Assassin, Altaïr, and his most trusted friend, Malik, are sent to Aleppo on a mission from Al Mualim. Of course the pair encounters trouble, but will it be too much?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The River

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cliché-ness of this entire story, and the poorly written, cheesy dialogue. Not exactly my strong suit, which is why I kept it to a minimum. My expertise is in description though, so hopefully you get the imagery I tried to put in place. In my eagerness to describe it exactly as I see it, I sometimes get out of hand and throw in a thousand descriptors. I tried to keep that to a minimum as well. Anyways, thanks for popping by, and I hope you enjoy. Kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated.  
> A few quick notes: this is my first fic, and I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm also trying to upload this from my phone at 4 o'clock in the morning. Sorry I talk so much!

Malik laughed, feeling giddy, as the wind rushed through his hair and made his eyes water. Underneath him, the black horse surged forth, its muscles rippling and rolling between his legs.

He turned his head to the right, and locked eyes with Altaïr, poised atop his elegant, white horse, who looked equally excited. On his exposed face was plastered a huge smile. His usually restricting hood had blown off his head. The two were leant forward on their horses, standing in the stirrups, pressing the animals onward.

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad; a prodigious Master Assassin, the youngest in history, and Malik Al-Sayf; a genius sword master, and Altaïr's best friend, rode side by side. The sun shone brightly upon the two, and they rode like this for hours, occasionally letting the horses slow, or stop for a drink.

They weren't escaping Templars, but they had alerted a few along the road, and Malik knew they needed to press on towards their destination, Aleppo. But now it was getting dark, and as much as Altaïr and Malik felt free and invigorated, their horses were sweating and panting, and tiring with each step.

Malik slowed his horse to a trot, and Altaïr, once realizing Malik was no longer aside him, pulled his horse to a stop and turned it around to wait.

"Altaïr, the horses are tired. They need to rest, and so do we. It's been a long, hot day, and Alep isn't going anywhere."

Altaïr nodded. "I was beginning to think the same thing. I could feel Shiva's steps start to falter beneath me. And we need to find a place to set up camp before it gets dark."

The two scanned the side of the road for a flat area or a path to follow. Malik pointed out a small path, and led the way.

They went through gentle, green underbrush, which opened up into a small clearing flanked by shrubbery, except for on one side, which was instead a sheer drop off into a wide, swift river. Malik rode as closely to the edge as he dared, to see how far the drop was. At least fifty feet. As Malik relayed his observation, out of nervous habit, Altaïr pulled his cowl over his face, and stayed as far from the edge as possible.

Malik knew of Altaïr's dislike of water. He couldn't swim, and was embarrassed, so he always steered clear of it in fear of making a fool of himself. 'A Master Assassin saved from drowning in two feet of water by a novice'; he would rather die, Malik was sure.

"Malik..." Altaïr was hesitant. "There's no escape route, and if a group of Templars happened to stumble in here, I would rather be cut down nobly fighting the bastards than jump down there. Like you said, it's at least fifty feet, and... You know how I feel about water..." He was looking down at his feet, scuffling in the dirt with the toe of his boot.

Altaïr may have been an egotistical twenty year old, but in that instant, he looked like the humble little novice he had been ten years ago.

"That's true. As much as it seems safe and hidden, you can never expect things to go as planned." Malik quoted Al Mualim, and Altaïr slowly nodded.

"Let's go then." And it was Altaïr's turn to lead them out.

They barely got a few steps in before: "Halt Assassins! We have been following you all day, and finally we meet." A deep, thickly accented voice called out in front of Altaïr. Malik couldn't see the man, Altaïr and his horse were in the way

"Get off your horses and come quietly, or we will cut you down. You are hopelessly outnumbered, and you won't get away with your lives." The presumed Templar growled.

Malik watched as Altaïr swung his leg over his horse and dropped to the ground, pushing her, and Malik in the process, back into the clearing. He drew his sword, and at that, Malik quickly dismounted and drew his own.

Malik heard yelling, and a clash of steel, and rushed forward. Altaïr was being pushed back, and his movements were uncharacteristically wild and panicked, obviously fearing going back to the clearing; towards the river. Malik tried to get beside his friend, but the path was too narrow to fight effectively beside each other.

Altaïr suddenly cried out and stumbled backwards into Malik as an arrow pierced his leg. Malik saw the arrowhead jutting out of his thigh.

Malik grabbed hold of the assassin's white robes and towed him backwards, into the clearing, so they could at least fight side by side. Altaïr leaned softly against Malik's shoulder as to take as much weight as he could off his injured leg without it being glaringly obvious.

The Templars followed suit, quickly filling the clearing, and backing the two assassins closer to the edge of the cliff. Everyone had a sword extended or a bow drawn, Malik and Altaïr being no exception, but no one made a move yet.

The horses were panicking now, the whites of their eyes showing as they were backed to the edge of the cliff alongside their riders. Finally, Malik's big black horse, Obsidian, reared and fled through the huge group of Templars, effectively creating a path that Malik knew wouldn't last. He lunged toward it, and thought he would be home free, until a word flashed through his mind that caused him to stop abruptly and he was instantaneously surrounded by Templars.

Altaïr.

As if on cue, there was a terrified cry of pain, and Malik turned just in time to see the top of Altaïr's white hood disappear from sight. Then, the Templars set their wrath upon Malik. He parried blows from all sides. He wasn't known as the King of Swords for nothing, but he was only intent on getting to the edge of the cliff, and there were just too many Templars.

Shiva, the beautiful white angel of a horse, suddenly thundered past Malik, creating another path for him, back to the cliff's edge. Malik caught the creature's eye as she went by, and it seemed to plead Malik to save her master.

He took no time to ponder, just raced through the momentary gap, and after a swift sweep of the edge, devoid of Altaïr, Malik leapt. 

 

The assassins revelled in their ability to do a 'leap of faith'. Altaïr always told him that it truly made him feel like the Eagle of Masyaf, and that he felt so whole and alive and peaceful. To Malik, the rush of adrenaline was more intoxicating than anything. Peacefulness was the last thing he felt. Falling and landing completely intact made him want to go and fight all that opposed him. Honestly, Malik didn't know why the feelings weren't the other way around: that he would feel peace and Altaïr would feel the call of blood, that just seemed to make more sense.

This sort of falling was very similar. He obviously had to position himself differently so he would go in straight vertically, not horizontally like he usually would, but he felt the rush of adrenaline, that wasn't unlike how he felt when he was riding alongside Altaïr today. The smiling image of the young Master made the surge of adrenaline stop, and brought on a wave of nausea as the water came close with blinding speed.

Malik was unprepared, and he broke the surface slightly off-kilter. It was a sharp slap to his side and face. The water enveloped him, and it was so much colder than he had expected. The shock of it made him immediately dizzy, and pushed what air he had gathered in his descent from his lungs. He couldn't even tell which way was up. He needed air. He needed to save Altaïr.

Malik opened his eyes, which ached from the cold right away, and his senses came flooding back. He looked all around him for a shadow. Nothing.

He kicked hard toward the light, and broke the surface, choking and gasping. He was so cold, his robes so heavy; his eyes so tired and face stinging where it came in abrupt contact with the water. For a moment, he just wanted to sink to the bottom.

'No. This is my fault. I can't give up until Altaïr is safe.'

He cast about for the young Assassin, and why was the man so evasive at all the wrong times?

Malik paddled to stay above, and was dragged along by the current, his eyes scanning below the surface of the dark water. He was shivering intensely, and his limbs were becoming stiff and hard to move.

Wait! A shadow! And Malik plunged beneath the water again. His eyes ached intensely, and his whole body felt of stone, but he kicked hard and stretched his hands out to grasp the white robed figure in a tight embrace. He pressed the unresponsive Assassin close to his body, and turned, propelling them toward the light of the surface. Altaïr weighed a million tonnes, and Malik thought, maybe they wouldn't make it. But they did.

The problem now was keeping Altaïr's head above the water. The strength involved was incredible, and Malik was rapidly running out. He kicked so hard, and used the arm not clutching his friend tightly, to keep them up. Altaïr's head was lolled back on Malik's shoulder. His eyes were closed, and all his features were tinged an ominous blue upon his lifelessly pale skin.

It felt like hours passed as the two bobbed down the unforgiving river. He couldn't keep going. Oh how he tried, and was still trying. He wasn't even sure that Altaïr was alive, and if he was still alive at this point, he probably would condone Malik's decision to give up. Malik wasn't one to give up, but they were in a hopelessly wide river, no places to grasp onto to stop them floating downriver; further and further away from home.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Malik's voice was so shaky he couldn't even discern his own words, and a single tear rolled down his cheek as he gently placed a kiss upon his best friend's cold forehead. There was no one he would rather die beside than the man he held in his arms. 

He clutched his other arm tightly around Altaïr, ceasing his useless paddling, and stilled his tired legs, giving in to the tempting pull of an eternal sleep.


	2. Beyond Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter has a whole new tone. The first was sad and kind of boring, and this one is (hopefully) sassy and kind of silly. Alsooo some swearing in this, so if that offends you, I apologize beforehand! Enjoy the story!

Malik opened his eyes to bright white light. Death was not nearly as comfortable and warm as he had expected, although he wasn't exactly cold. He shut his eyes tightly again, and felt a light current gently tugging the robes about his legs. He felt a body clutched against his own, shivering so slightly that Malik would have completely missed it had he not been trying to pretend he was dead. 

He opened his eyes again, squinting hard to adjust to the brightness, until the world came into a manageable focus. 

He was lying half-in, half-out of the river on an unfamiliar beach of soft, white sand. The sky above him was a serene blue, and the sun blazed in the sky, making him uncomfortably hot. In Malik's arms was Altaïr. 

The man looked perfectly dead; equally calm and haunting. His skin had the pallor of an old corpse, and Malik's heart caught in his throat as he watched for any slight sign of life. 

Nothing... Maybe he had only imagined the shuddering. But suddenly, the assassin's chest rose and fell incredibly quickly. It was fleeting, like lightning, and had he not been watching closely, he would not have seen it at all, like the shiver.

Malik himself was aching and sore. He was parched and his lips were chapped and bloody on his face. Damn the water for being salty. Where his cheek had been resting in the tiny grits of the sand was absolutely on fire.

He could barely imagine the warm caress of his own cosy bed as he lay in the sand, and he pulled Altaïr closer to his chest, clutching him tightly, as if he could be taken away. Malik had to will himself up, from laying down, to an upright position, and the rush of blood made him lose all orientation momentarily. When the world settled, he pulled Altaïr's lifeless body into his lap, gently petting his hair down. What else could he do? He barely had the strength in him to sit upright, let alone stand. 

"What now?" Malik spoke aloud, and then he remembered something. Altaïr had been shot in the leg, he might as well remove the arrow. The bleeding had likely stopped, and shouldn't start again as long as he was careful.

He lay Altaïr flat on the ground so he could get to his leg, which was still dangling in the water. Malik pulled him up a little, and out of the current. Using his hidden blade, he cut the arrow in two, and slowly eased it from Altaïr's leg. 

The hole was clean, and the edges of it were wrinkled and white, like he had been in water too long, which he obviously had. Now, to close it... Malik searched his multiple small pouches, and pricked his finger on a small sewing needle. Finding some loose thread, he fished them out and set them on his lap. They weren't exactly for wounds; more so for clothes, but they would have to do. 

Malik threaded the needle, and quickly, neatly, stitched both the entry and exit wounds. Altaïr didn't stir, but his breathing was becoming more audible and normal, and that was definitely a good sign. 

Sitting with an idle task had seemed to have helped Malik regain his strength, and he stood and stretched. His legs were wobbly at first, and it took immense effort to stop himself from toppling over, but he maintained his footing. 

He scanned the area, and right there was a road. Malik breathed a sigh of relief: that was one worry dissipated. He bent down beside Altaïr, and got close to his ear. 

"Altaïr? I know you can hear me, idiot. Get your lazy ass up, or at least open your stupid eyes so I'm not alone here."

Malik waited, and just as he opened his mouth again to yell some creative obscenities into Altaïr's ear, he grunted and shifted. 

"Ma-" Altaïr's voice was just a whisper, and it was scratchy. 

"Oh you stupid..." Malik's voice was soft, and he trailed off, but then his voice became a wild torrent of his pent up worry and anger. "You fucking NOVICE! Moron. That's what you are; an imbecile, and a novice, and a MORON. How about you don't nap while I'm trying to keep the two of us alive."

Altaïr was just watching Malik, blinking occasionally. 

"So-rry?" Altaïr croaked out, and blissful laughter burst from Malik's mouth. He put his forehead on Altaïr's chest. 

"I'm actually glad you're not dead." 

"And I'm glad that you're glad that I'm not dead." Altaïr's voice was still dry, but he could speak fine now, and Malik knew he was okay. 

"Shut up, and get up." Malik ordered. Altaïr just raised an eyebrow and tried to push himself upwards. His hand slipped, and he would've fallen back if Malik hadn't thrown his arm out to catch him.

He huffed. "Thanks, I think."

Malik put Altaïr's arm over his own shoulder, and wrapped his arm around the man's ribs to help pull him up to stand, but when he put weight on his injured leg, he almost collapsed again with a grunt of pain. Luckily, Malik was still holding him tightly. 

"That hurts." Altaïr sighed and plopped his head on Malik's shoulder. 

"No no, we need to get moving. Don't mope like a novice. I need to figure out where we are, and I don't need to drag your ass along behind me. I need your cooperation if we're gonna get anywhere."

Altaïr just grinned cheekily up at him. 

"I hate you, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. Curse your children, and your children's children, and your children's children's goats." 

"Wow, that's heavy." Altaïr lifted his head and looked around them. "Actually, Malik... I know where we are." 

"Well?"

Altaïr pointed. "Jerusalem is about forty minutes by horse, in that direction. There is a crossroad up ahead that's always full of people. I'm sure we will find someone who can get us a horse or two, and we can be on our way back to Aleppo."

And Malik just wanted to cry. They were both safe. They were both alive and well, with maybe just a touch of sunburn. Their situation went from bleak, to stupidly perfect. 

"Good. This is good. Let's go then." 

And so they did, leaving the river behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo. I have finally figured everything out and finished the story and just- yesss. I had a tough time finishing this, but I did it! Thanks for the few people who left kudos and comments and even a bookmark, and thanks for just stopping by! Wow I feel special. Don't worry, I've got a million prompts that I've scrounged up that I want to write for these two, so you haven't seen the last of me! <3 Don't forget to leave kudos or a comment, to let me know what you think! It's appreciated more than you know:3

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to end it there, but I won't, for the sake of my sanity, and, I'm sure, other's. If you want it to end there, then stop reading, but I'm sure the curiosity will get the best of you and you will end up reading the rest anyway. Thanks for getting this far, and if you liked it, or didn't, just leave me a kudos or comment! <3


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